


Nos Galan Gaeaf

by tinylilremus



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-11-12 15:42:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11164962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinylilremus/pseuds/tinylilremus
Summary: Merlin knows from the heart-stopping moment that the fallen branch impales and rips his tent almost in half, that he hates, nay loathes camping and to his horror, it's the annoyingly posh rich bloke with the top-of-the-range camping gear who comes to his rescue.However, it soon becomes clear that there's a reason that the two of them ended up at the camping ground next to what is rumoured to be one of the most haunted and powerful forests in Britain on the last day of October, and it's far bigger than either of them could have ever imagined.





	Nos Galan Gaeaf

Merlin knows from the heart-stopping moment that the fallen branch impales and rips his tent almost in half, that he hates, nay, _loathes_ camping.

And while he knows that it’s probably his fault for leaving this trip to the end of October, due to the fact that he’s rapidly becoming drenched from the rain now pouring into what used to be his ceiling and that the howling wind is cutting into him like blades of ice, he feels completely justified in feeling sorry for himself.

It would still be alright if he had the foggiest idea how to mend the tattered nylon, but despite his mum’s best efforts, he’s never quite gotten the hang of sewing and he doesn’t know any mending spells because he hasn’t really seen the point of them until now.

Fuck Murphy and his fucking law.

“Some bloody magical prodigy you are,” he practically growls in frustration as he tries to prop up his coat with the stick he had been using to stoke his campfire earlier to form a makeshift ceiling. It’s not working. The coat flops down uselessly around the stick, allowing the roaring gale to pelt his face with icy drops of rain. Merlin feels on the verge of tears as he fumbles around defeatedly for the sewing kit he has no idea how to use.

His search, however, is interrupted by an impossibly plummy shout from above him.

“Hey, do you need a bit of help there?”

Maybe it’s the fact that he’s drenched to the bone, or the fact that the arsehole is shining a torch in his face, or the fact that he’s had to endure what should have been his alone time a few yards away from this admittedly attractive but distracting douche with his top-of-the-range camping gear and air of unwarranted superiority, but right now Merlin wants nothing more than to turn him into a toad.

“No thanks,” is what he yells back instead. “I’m alright.”

“Your tent is practically torn in half,” the man remarks and even though he can’t see him, Merlin hears the smirk in his voice.

“I’m going to sew it back together.” Merlin feels around again for the pocket of his rucksack into which he’s packed his sewing kit. Or, at least, where he _thinks_ he’s packed his sewing kit.

Shit. What if he hasn’t packed his sewing kit?

“Look, don’t be an idiot,” the man shouts over a clap of thunder, and Merlin bristles at the insult, even though that’s what he’s been calling himself for the past few minutes. “It’s going to take you ages to stitch that back together if it’s even possible in this wind. I have a four-man tent and an extra sleeping bag. Grab your things and let’s go. We’ll see what we can do about your tent tomorrow.”

Merlin scoffs at the man’s arrogance. He didn’t even try to phrase any of that as an offer. And yet he finds, to his surprise, that he’s already gathering up his sodden belongings and following the arsehole across the marshy plot to the only other tent on the campground. An electric lantern inside it makes it glow like a beacon and it might as well be a stone building for how little the wind seems to be affecting it.

_Rich prick._

Once inside, he dumps his things into the corner farthest away from where the man has set up his bed and tries to not to look as relieved as he feels when the man zips up the tent, shutting out the storm.

“Arthur,” the man says, holding out his hand and Merlin shakes it without offering his name in return. He has no idea why he’s so set against this man; they haven’t said so much as a ‘hello’ to each other before now. For whatever reason though, whenever he sees the man – Arthur – he feels a strange mixture of guilt and joy in the pit of his stomach and the confusion of it drives him mad.

“Do you have dry clothes?” Arthur asks, interrupting Merlin’s angry inner rant. “If you don’t, you’re welcome to borrow some of mine.”

“I have my own,” says Merlin, though looking at his soaked holdall he doesn’t know how true that actually is. Arthur doesn’t push the issue any further, just nods and sets to rolling out a second camping mat and sleeping bag a respectable distance away from his bed.

Merlin rummages around in his bag and mercifully finds a spare pair of sweatpants and a long-sleeved t-shirt. His jumpers are soaked and useless, but Merlin decides that if he climbs into his sleeping bag quickly enough, he should be alright.

“I’m turning around now to let you change,” says Arthur. “Let me know when you’re finished.”

Merlin hastily changes out of his wet clothes, facing Arthur as he does to make sure that he doesn’t peek. Not that he expects Arthur to peek. He’s pretty sure that Arthur is straight and that, even if he isn’t, his type is definitely not pale, scrawny marketing coordinator. He wonders why he even cares what Arthur’s type would be.

Once his t-shirt is on, he throws his discarded clothes into his holdall and scrambles for the sleeping bag. While the tent is infinitely more comfortable than the raging storm outside, the wind still whistles through any small gap in the fabric it can find and the cold seems to be seeping down into Merlin’s bones. The quicker he can warm up, the quicker he’ll be able to get to sleep and the quicker that this god-awful ordeal will be over.

“I take it you’re finished then?” smirks Arthur as Merlin zips up his sleeping bag. When Merlin doesn’t respond, he laughs and climbs into his own sleeping bag before turning off the small electric lantern next to him.

It’s blissfully quiet for a while after that, save for the storm outside, but Merlin can’t even begin to sleep. Besides being unable to get any warmer, something _weird_ is happening with his magic.

Merlin knows his magic inside and out. It’s more real to him than sight or feeling or any of his other senses and it’s more than just a part of him – it _is_ him. For the past twenty-three years he’s experienced it in all of its forms: the cool blue he feels when he’s creating, the comforting green when he uses it for healing, the fiery red of the accidental magic that happens when he’s angry, the deep purple of transformative magic…

This is something new. This is white and effervescent and would feel like his magic does when he’s falling in love if it didn’t also feel like every cell in his body was being filled with a light so pure and bright that would make the sun look dim. And, of course, there’s no way he’s falling in love with some bloke he hardly knows and who he is pretty sure he would dislike intensely if he did know him any better.

No, this is something entirely new and terrifying.

Aside from it being considered one of the most haunted forests in Britain, Merlin has heard stories of the power of the Darkling Woods from more than one of his magic friends. Freya, one of his childhood friends, swears that after just a twenty-minute walk she was the most skilled student in her Thaumatology class for almost an entire semester. Elena maintains that it was her camping trip here that made her realise she might be a changeling. Merlin had seen it firsthand when his ex-boyfriend, Gilly, came back from his trail running competition able to easily do spells he had previously struggled with for years. That, more than anything, had convinced Merlin that the stories were true. Either the forest was significantly magical or Gilly had experienced one hell of a placebo effect.

As he stares up at the ceiling of the tent, his magic coursing through him with a ferocity that he’s never before experienced, Merlin is now personally convinced that this forest is something unexplainably powerful.

“Perhaps he’s a tortured world-famous artist on a quest to find himself,” says Arthur suddenly, pulling Merlin abruptly from his thoughts. “Either that or a spy deep undercover.”

“What are you on about?” asks Merlin, hating himself for being unable to kerb his curiosity.

“I’m just wondering why you didn’t give me your name,” says Arthur, “and also what you’re doing on a camping trip on your own.”

“Why don’t you ask that to one of the hundreds of people you’ve brought with you on yours?” says Merlin, rolling his eyes.

“That’s different,” says Arthur. “I came prepared with a four-man tent and extra camping gear because it was _supposed_ to be a weekend away with a few friends of mine.”

“And how did that work out for you?” asks Merlin. It’s his turn to smirk now.

“They heard that there was going to be a storm.” A perfectly timed clap of thunder punctuates Arthur’s explanation.

“Well, they weren’t wrong.”

“Oh don’t take their side,” laughs Arthur and Merlin smiles despite himself. “I mean, I know that carrying on with the trip was probably an insane idea – especially after seeing the state of your tent now – but I’ve been weirdly obsessed with it for the past few months and I wasn’t going to cancel it because of a little bit of rain, you know?”

“A tree was blown over and tore my tent apart,” says Merlin. “You must be from somewhere with really shitty weather if you think this is just ‘a little bit of rain’.”

“Chelsea?” says Arthur and Merlin’s not sure if he’s imagining the slight sheepishness in his voice as he admits it, but it’s charming and Merlin feels his earlier defences start to fall away.

“Of course you are,” Merlin says in an approximation of Arthur’s posh accent and when Arthur laughs at this, he joins in. There’s a brief and intense flash of familiarity – as if sharing a joke with Arthur is the most natural thing in the world – but it as soon as it appears it’s gone.

“It’s also Halloween,” says Arthur, “and they decided that camping out right next to what’s supposed to be one of the most haunted forests in Britain in the middle of a storm on Halloween was probably just asking for bad shit to happen. My friend, Elyan, accused me of being every white person horror movie stereotype.”

“Wait – Elyan?” says Merlin, his ears pricking up at the uncommon name. “As in Elyan Smith?”

“Yeah, do you know him?” asks Arthur. Merlin hears the rustle of his sleeping bag and the next second he’s blinded, as light from the electric lantern floods the tent.

“Yeah, kind of,” says Merlin, throwing an arm over his eyes to shield them. “I was at uni with his sister, Gwen. She’s my best friend.”

“Ah, yeah. Gwen.” Arthur says. “We, er, we were together for a while.”

“Oh my god,” says Merlin sitting upright in bed. “You’re _that_ Arthur?”

“I think I must be,” Arthur shrugs. “And that probably means you’re Gwen’s-actual-wizard friend Merlin.”

“Guilty,” smiles Merlin, “although the correct term is ‘warlock’. She hasn’t been going around calling me a wizard has she?”

“Nah, I think that might just be Elyan’s interpretation,” laughs Arthur. “So, it’s Merlin. Now I know. And you really have magic?”

“Since I was born,” he replies. ‘Having’ magic seems like a gross understatement for what he’s going through right now. Merlin has never felt anything like it before. It’s more like his magic has him. “That’s not a problem for you, is it?”

“Not at all,” says Arthur. “I mean, okay, not always I’ll admit. Did Gwen tell you that my father is Uther Pendragon, the prick responsible for GBAMP?”

“No, she didn’t,” says Merlin, the pieces now falling into place. Arthur is politician Arthur Pendragon, the current Secretary of State for Education and the youngest person to ever fill the position. He’s the champion behind the Magic and Trade Integration Act that is set to overhaul the entire education system in the next few years, from preschool right up until tertiary level, allowing magic to eventually be fully and fairly integrated into every aspect of society. For the first time, healers will hold the same qualifications as doctors; seers will no longer be turned away from jobs for fear of their abilities and new positions will be created where their skills can be used.

Merlin has no idea how he hasn’t recognised him up until now – there are few people he respects more than Arthur Pendragon.

He has no idea how Gwen has never mentioned that the Arthur she told him about is the famous politician, but then Gwen has always hesitated to share too much about him, maintaining that his father is pretty twisted and that she would never be able to afford the legal fees it would take to avoid being sued for everything she owned if anything about him ever got out. Merlin realises now that Gwen is even wiser than he previously thought. Uther Pendragon, head of the Great Britain Anti-Magic Party, is almost pure evil.

“You two had a pretty public falling out over your stance on magic recently though, didn’t you?”

“One of many,” Arthur rolls his eyes. “I don’t really want to talk about it. My point is that I used to be just like him, so I can understand if I’m a problem for you.”

“You’re more than making up for whatever bigoted views you had before with your new policies,” smiles Merlin. “So I think we’re fine.”

“Okay, good,” smiles Arthur. “Are you okay, by the way? You’re shivering like crazy. Actually, hold on.” A moment later he’s scrambling to the foot of his mat to rummage for something in what looks like a well-travelled sports kit bag. Once he’s retrieved it, he tosses it to Merlin. It’s the most comfortable-looking hoodie Merlin has ever seen and he finds that his earlier reservations around wearing Arthur’s clothes have completely disappeared. Merlin realises just how cold he is as he picks it up to take a look at it. It smells like laundry detergent and another underlying scent that makes that feeling of intense déjà vu fizz through him again.

The Darkling Woods are doing a real number on him.

“Thanks,” Merlin says as he pulls it on and though he still feels like a block of ice, he knows now that he’ll warm up soon.

“Don’t mention it,” Arthur replies. For a few moments, there’s nothing but she sounds of the storm until a large clap of thunder makes Arthur look up at the ceiling of the tent nervously. “Er, there isn’t perhaps a chance that you know some sort of force field spell? That thunder sounds like it’s getting closer.”

“As a matter of fact I do,” says Merlin and hopes to every god that he can keep hold of his magic enough to only shield the tent. At this point, he feels powerful enough to shield Britain. He mutters the incantation and even he marvels at how still and quiet it becomes all of a sudden. The sound of heavy raindrops hitting the tent has stopped and the wind is no longer beating against them. He can still hear the storm but it’s muffled as though he’s put on a pair of earmuffs.

“That was fucking amazing,” says Arthur and Merlin bends forward in a mock bow. “I don’t suppose it’s possible for you to stop the rain entirely?”

“Sure, if I was a really powerful warlock,” says Merlin.

“And _are_ you a really powerful warlock?”

“I’m not without my talents,” Merlin smiles, gracefully dodging his magical prodigy status, “but it’s still illegal for magic users to tamper with the weather, and it’s probably best not to try it with a member of parliament a few feet away from me.”

“No, probably not,” Arthur grins, settling back down onto his pillow. There’s a beat or two of silence where Merlin wonders if Arthur has gone to sleep, but then he turns to face Merlin, propping himself up on an elbow. “So, Merlin, now that I know your name, is there any chance you’re going to tell me why you’re on a camping trip on your own in the middle of a storm on Halloween?”

“It’s _Nos Galan Gaeaf_ where I grew up,” smirks Merlin, “a spirit night. Maybe I’m here for some dark mysterious magic ritual. Maybe I’m an evil warlock here to perform black magic to get my revenge.”

“You couldn’t even keep your tent together and you’re best friends with actual rainbow Gwen Smith, so forgive me if I doubt that,” scoffs Arthur. “But if the real answer is too personal you don’t have to answer the question.”

“No, it’s not. Don’t worry,” laughs Merlin. “I’m here because I have to make sure I immerse myself in nature a few times every year. My magic is tied to it, so even though I’m not much of a fan of camping, it’s necessary. I mean most magic users have to, but for whatever reason, I seem to rely on the connection more than others. It was fine growing up because I lived in a small village in Wales right on the edge of a forest, but ever since uni and certainly since moving to London I’ve had to go camping a few times a year because I don’t get enough of a connection from the trees and parks in the city. I can still use magic, but I get increasingly tired the longer I go without nature and eventually I don’t want to use magic anymore and start getting ill because I’m not using it. These camping trips give me enough of a top-up to keep going for a while.”

“You see, that makes far more sense than a black magic ritual,” laughs Arthur. “I’ve never actually made the connection between magic and camping. All this time I thought my half-sister just had an obsession with the outdoors. Shows you what I know. Tell me, do the storm and the fact that it’s that Nos Gallan, you know, and the fact that we’re next to one of the most haunted forests in Britain affect the process in any way?”

“Not the storm so much,” replies Merlin, “but being next to the Darkling Woods on _Nos Galan Gaeaf_ probably explains why it feels like my magic is so strong at the moment. I wasn’t really thinking about that when I planned this trip though. I meant to go on the trip earlier in the year when there was probably less risk of dying of hypothermia, but things just kept getting in the way. By the time I realised I absolutely had to get to nature, I decided on the Darkling Woods because I’d heard stories of what it does for people with magic.”

“Did you feel like you _had_ to come here specifically at all?” asks Arthur. He’s staring into Merlin’s eyes as if searching for something and the intensity of his piercing blue eyes makes his stomach flip. How sure is he that the bright effervescent white of his magic isn’t him falling in love? He hardly knows Arthur but there’s still that unexplainable sense that he does know him – that he knows him better than he knows most people.

“Not initially,” says Merlin, swallowing in an attempt to get a grip on his emotions, “but there was a strange sense of urgency when I started packing for the trip like if I didn’t come here I was going to miss something important. It might have just been my magic playing tricks on me though.”

“No, I had the exact same experience,” says Arthur, his eyes widening. “When my mates started calling me up to cancel, I also considered not coming, but then I was hit with the exact same feeling. Like something big was going to happen and if I missed it, I would never forgive myself. Do you think it means something?”

There’s a thought. Merlin has never put much stock into the idea of soulmates. To him, saying that a person only has one other person that they could truly love cheapens any real love that might exist before or after the so-called love of their life. That’s why whatever is happening between Arthur and him at this point is so unnerving. He knows that magic is deep and mysterious and manifests in any number of ways and he can’t be certain about anything. Whatever this is, the two of them ending up at the same place at the same time with the same sense of urgency, with his magic acting up and with their strange indefinable connection, Merlin has to concede that it’s a lot like what’s supposed to happen with soulmates. And, if he’s to have a soulmate, he could do a lot worse than handsome politician Arthur Pendragon who defied his prejudiced upbringing to become a key player in the fight for magic equality.

But Arthur is straight. He’s only ever dated women before. If he’s supposed to put any stock into the idea that they’re soulmates, magic is even crueller than thought it was.

“We, er, we should probably get to sleep,” says Merlin breaking their gaze, unable to deal with what he’s feeling anymore. It’s a spirit night and he’s next to an especially magically significant forest. His magic is just playing tricks on him. That’s all that’s happening. He’ll wake up in the morning, thank Arthur for his help and will offer him his number. If Arthur wants to keep in touch, Merlin will get to know him better before deciding how he feels.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” says Arthur, and Merlin knows he’s just imagining the tone of disappointment in his voice. “Thanks for the storm shield. Are you going to be okay to keep it up all night?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. I’ve held up much worse than this before,” says Merlin. “Goodnight, Arthur. Sorry I was a rude twat earlier. I really do appreciate this.”

“Anytime,” smiles Arthur, turning off the lantern again. “Sleep well.”

As Merlin lies on his back staring up at the ceiling of the tent, the feeling of familiarity floods him again. He’s been here before, he knows it.

They’ve just settled down after a long day of hunting. Gwaine and Percival are taking the first watch and everything is quiet except for their hushed conversation and the crackling of the campfire. Merlin looks over at Arthur who was asleep almost as soon as they decided who would be taking each watch. He always looks so young like this. Carefree. Less like the prince of Camelot and more like any other man of twenty-four. Between frequent attacks from Camelot’s enemies and his father’s increasingly taxing demands on him and his time, these past few months have been trying for Arthur. Merlin’s vow to protect Arthur weighs heavy on his shoulders and he wonders, not for the first time, if he’s even up to the task and how much of his protection is going to be just making sure that Arthur doesn't simply die of exhaustion.

After making sure that no one is watching, Merlin uses his magic to tuck Arthur’s cloak tighter around him. It’s not enough to set Merlin’s mind at ease, but it’s something. Sighing, he turns over and gasps in surprise as the scene around him dissolves.

Merlin is now standing in Arthur’s chambers. Arthur is sitting at his desk, looking drawn and tired and Merlin notices that his breakfast is still untouched. It’s his birthday, a day that has always been difficult for Arthur because of his mother’s death, but as it’s now also the anniversary of his Father’s death, Merlin can see that Arthur’s pain is almost physical. As Arthur glances up and catches Merlin’s eye, he can’t seem to keep it together anymore. Merlin rarely sees Arthur cry and as such it always seems so terrible and wrong, like he’s in agony that Merlin could never access or understand.

Not knowing what else to do, he makes his way across the room to Arthur and places a comforting hand on his shoulder, squeezing it as he does.

_I’m sorry that it happened – I’m sorry that it happened because of me._

To his surprise, Arthur places a hand over his and squeezes back.

_It’s okay. There’s nothing you could have done. Thank you for being here._

The room dissolves again and this time, Merlin is holding a lifeless Arthur in his arms, wondering why he didn’t do more. How he let this happen. Why Arthur is being punished for Merlin’s inability to live up to his destiny. He feels hollow and shattered and doesn’t know how he’s going to carry on.

_You weren’t meant to leave like this, Arthur. Never like this. Please, I love you._

He’s summoning Kilgharrah before he even realises what he’s doing. The familiar string of words has never sounded so pained, has never cost him so much. He moves to reluctantly let go of Arthur, pressing their foreheads together as he does and using every fibre of his being to will him back. He’s interrupted as the familiar beat of reptilian wings greets his ears.

“Kilgharrah?” He calls, setting Arthur’s head gently down on the dewy grass.

“Young warlock, I know what it is you are about to ask me and there is no need,” says the great dragon, settling down in the clearing. “I will remind you that you are not here, Merlin. You are asleep elsewhere, in a time when all of this has faded into legend.”

Merlin’s heart races. Of course this isn’t actually happening – how had he forgotten? Arthur, his Arthur, is alive and well and lying in a tent just a few feet from him as they take shelter together from a storm happening over a thousand years from now. This isn’t real.

And yet a glance at this Arthur, pale and empty, makes his stomach lurch. It still feels real.

“You have lived in ignorance of who you are for too long, young warlock,” Kilgharrah continues. “You have forgotten your destiny and what it is that you were born to do. It’s time for you and Arthur Pendragon to take your rightful place as those who would unite the lands of Albion.”

“But Albion is fine,” says Merlin, not understanding. “It remains united. Arthur’s legacy continues.”

“They may be ruled over by the same person, but can you honestly say that Albion’s people are united? Can you honestly say that Albion’s need is not great in your time?”

Merlin sinks to the ground. He can’t and he knows now that none of this is a coincidence. Arthur and Merlin were always meant to meet on the outskirts of the Darkling Woods at the time of the year when the past is at its closest to the present. They’ve been brought back for a reason. He will once again serve the Once and Future King.

“Take heart, young warlock,” says Kilgharrah gently. “This time Arthur will know who you are and what you have done in his service. You will not have to live in secrecy and fear. You will have each other.”

“Will you be there?” asks Merlin.

“In a way,” replies the dragon. “The time of dragons has come to an end. We cannot exist in your world. But as long as you remember me, I will be with you. The time has now come for you to live in the destiny bestowed upon you – to retake your place as the most powerful warlock who ever lived. Wake now, Merlin, and remind your King of the destiny you share.”

The land around him begins to morph and tilt and as it disappears, every part of it seems to be crying out to him. _Merlin, Merlin, Merlin…_

“Merlin? Merlin?” Someone above him his shaking him roughly, pulling him from his dream. When he opens his eyes Arthur is looking down at him, concern deeply etched into his every feature. “Merlin, are you alright? You were screaming in your sleep and crying and I couldn’t wake you up.”

“Arthur,” Merlin says, reaching up to cup his cheek. He can’t quite believe that this is real, that his Arthur is here and alive and warm beneath his hand.

“It’s me,” smiles Arthur, placing his hand over Merlin’s. “You’re okay then?”

“I’m better than okay,” says Merlin, sitting up so that he and Arthur are eye-to-eye. “God, Arthur, it’s really you and you’re really here. I’m not dreaming this.”

“What do you mean? Of course I’m here,” says Arthur. “Did that branch hit your head earlier? Is this a concussion? Do you need me to call 999?”

“No, I’m fine. I promise,” says Merlin. “Just…”

“Just what, Merlin? You’re worrying me.”

His heart is rapidly spiralling down into the pit of his stomach. Arthur doesn’t remember. He doesn’t know that he’s the Once and Future King, and Merlin has no idea how he’s supposed to remind him.

_Unless…_

“Do you trust me?” he asks Arthur, making sure to look him directly in the eye.

“That’s one hell of a question. I’ve only really known you for the better part of four hours,” Arthur replies.

“I know that, but think… just gut-reaction, if I asked you to follow me somewhere right now, would you?”

“Yes,” says Arthur after a moment’s hesitation. “Why, where are we going?”

“There’s a place not far from here that I need you to see,” says Merlin. “It’s important.”

“Alright, lead the way.”

Merlin pulls on his wellies and coat and waits for Arthur to do the same. Then, he leads them out of the tent, through the storm towards the Darkling Woods

“If it turns out that you’re a serial killer and that you’re about to murder me on Halloween, you can bet your arse I’m coming back to haunt you,” says Arthur and Merlin laughs and stops for a moment.

“Here,” he says, slipping his hand into Arthur’s. “Now you’ll know if I’m about to do anything underhanded.”

Merlin can’t see Arthur’s face clearly enough to read the expression there, but Arthur laces their fingers together and nods. They walk through the outer forest for a while until the trees start getting thicker and the forest floor becomes riddled with roots and shrubs. Fearing a broken neck, Merlin uses his free hand to conjure up a ball of blue light which hovers a few feet above them, lighting their way.

“I’ve seen something like that before,” gasps Arthur, “but I can’t for the life of me remember where.”

“We don’t have too much farther to go now,” he says, trying not to let Arthur’s remark encourage him too much. He could have seen any number of sorcerers make one. They weren’t exactly uncommon.

Instead, he focuses on getting them to their destination without either of them falling to their deaths first.

“How do you even you know where you’re going?” asks Arthur as they neared it after a few minutes of companionable silence. “I was under the impression that you’d never been to this forest before.”

“Trust me, I was too,” says Merlin. “But I’ve just remembered a whole lot of things that I’d forgotten over the years. It’s a long story, but it will all make sense in a while. That’s it up ahead.”

He gestures to the dark mouth of a cave, where the blue light is hovering as if waiting for them to follow.

“A cave? On Halloween? You have got to be joking, Merlin.”

“You can’t honestly be scared?” says Merlin, but Arthur just glares daggers. The expression is so familiar that Merlin almost laughs out loud. “Look, I know this is weird, but you have to believe me. It will all make sense once you’re inside.”

Arthur raises a sceptical eyebrow.

“I swear on my life that I would never do anything to hurt you, Arthur. Please just trust me.”

Arthur searches his eyes for a moment before squeezing his hand.

“Alright. You’re definitely crazy, but alright.”

Merlin is shaking as he steps inside. If there’s anywhere that Merlin can help Arthur remember who he really is, it’s here. He hasn’t been here in over a millennium, but it hasn’t changed. Everything looks exactly as he left it.

“What is this place?” whispers Arthur as they round a corner into the main chamber. Everything as far as the eye can see is covered in a glittering crystal that feels more and more alive the closer Merlin gets to it.

“This is the Crystal Cave and it’s the centre of magic in Britain. It’s why the Darkling Woods is so powerful and it’s why my magic has been going haywire this evening. Well, it’s partly the cave and partly you.”

“Me?” asks Arthur in surprise.

“Yes, you,” smiles Merlin. “None of this is a coincidence. Your name, Arthur Pendragon, your friends, your relationship with Gwen – Guinevere – and meeting me, Merlin, on _Nos Galan Gaeaf_ mere minutes away from the most magically significant place in Britain. All of it was meant to happen. Even the campground where we’re staying used to be part of the grounds of Camelot. Remember that feeling you were telling me about – that something big was going to happen? This is it, Arthur.”

“Wait. So you’re trying to tell me that I’m King Arthur,” he replies, frowning, “that Gwen is Queen Guinevere and that you’re _the_ Merlin?”

“That’s basically it,” says Merlin calmly. “Oh, and I’ve also just realised that my friend, Freya, is the Lady of the Lake.”

“You’re mad,” says Arthur. “Absolutely mental. I’m going back to camp.”

“No, Arthur, wait,” says Merlin, grasping his arm to stop him. “I know it sounds crazy and completely absurd, but I can prove it to you.”

“How?”

“A ritual. This way,” he says, gently pulling him towards a large crystal in the centre of the chamber. He’s never done anything like this before, but his instincts have never been sharper and for some reason that he can only attribute to being surrounded by this much magical energy, he knows exactly what to do. “Right, I’m going to take your hand again. Put your other hand on the crystal and look deeply into it. I’ll do the same.”

“This is seriously weird, Merlin,” says Arthur as Merlin takes his hand.

“I know,” Merlin replies with an understanding smile, “but I promise the worst that can happen is that it doesn’t work. In which case you can go back to your normal life, forget I exist and pretend that none of this ever happened. We have a destiny to fulfil though. You are the Once and Future King and I am your Sorcerer. We’re here because Albion needs us, so you have to at least try.”

“Alright, let’s just get it over with,” says Arthur, placing his other hand on the crystal. Merlin incants the spell and places his hand on the other side of the crystal, praying with everything in him that this works.

Immediately, the crystal ignites and deep inside the crystal Merlin is standing up to Arthur for bullying his servant and then he’s saving Arthur’s life for the first time. They see Merlin helping get Arthur ready for a tournament, and Arthur dangling from a cliff but still reaching for the flower that would save Merlin’s life. Their adventures dance before them – the countless times they laughed together, the times they encouraged each other, all the times that they saved each other. Merlin is shaking and he can feel Arthur shaking too, but he holds on, his eyes trained on the crystal, hungrily drinking it all in. It’s only when they get to Merlin’s worst memory, and the sound of the crystal-Merlin’s awful scream as he realises his Arthur is gone, that Arthur wrenches his hand from the crystal and the image disappears. Arthur has collapsed to his knees and Merlin realises he’s crying. Great, broken sobs wrack Arthur’s body. He’s never seen him like this before.

“Arthur?” he asks, kneeling down next to him and placing a hand on his shoulder.

Arthur turns to sob into Merlin’s chest and Merlin pulls him into his arms and strokes his hair. He has no idea if Arthur is crying because he remembers who he is or if the ritual had just been too much for him. He’s almost too scared to find out.

“Shh, hey, it’s alright. It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

Once Arthur’s crying subsides and his breathing returns to normal, Merlin lets go of him so that he can look at him properly.

“What’s going on?”

Arthur closes his eyes and shakes his head.

“It was you. You… you did everything… _were_ everything and I… Merlin, how do I ever take back what I did to you and put you through?”

Relief washes through him and it’s all Merlin can do in that moment not to burst into song. Arthur remembers. He’s back.

“Arthur, don’t be daft. Serving you was what I was born to do.” He takes Arthur’s hands in his own. “I would do it all again in a heartbeat without changing a thing. I loved every moment of serving you. I loved _you._ ”

Arthur shakes his head again and Merlin lets go of his hands to reach up and cup his cheek instead.

“I still love you,” he says, stroking a thumb gently along his cheekbone. “I think I always will and nothing you’ve done or will do is going to change that. We’ve been brought back for a reason. We have a destiny to fulfil and it’s going to take something a lot bigger than either of us to stop me from facing it with you as your sorcerer and friend.”

“My friend?” asks Arthur, his eyes meeting Merlin’s for the first time since before the crystal.

“If you’ll have me,” smiles Merlin.

“Not this time,” says Arthur. For a second, Merlin feels all the oxygen in the room disappear. After everything, after all this time, Arthur doesn’t want him. But then Merlin’s fears are dissolved because Arthur’s lips are on his and his arms are wrapping around Merlin to pull him closer. And then Merlin is kissing back, trying to pour every unsaid thought into it. And then they’re not kissing, just holding each other as if afraid the other might disappear at any moment.

Merlin’s magic has never felt stronger.

And it’s at this point when he’s sure that he could never hope to ever be happier, that his mind kindly reminds him that Arthur was married to Gwen when he died. And that Gwen is his best friend. And that he was just kissing his best friend’s late husband.

“Oi, stop worrying about Gwen,” says Arthur.

“What?” asks Merlin. Had he said his last thought out loud?

“You tensed,” laughs Arthur, “and I know you well enough to know that that would be your first concern.”

“You can’t really say that it’s not a _valid_ concern,” says Merlin defensively, pulling away to look at Arthur. “If we’re all here, it stands to reason that the others are going to start remembering who they really are. What if Gwen wakes up to find out I’ve been having an affair with her husband?”

“Marriage only lasts until death parts you,” says Arthur. “And I was definitely dead. In any case, I happen to know my good friend, Lance, has carried a torch for her for years but refuses to do anything about it because she’s my ex. I think he’ll find it a lot easier if he knows I’m happy with someone else. And I know part of Gwen’s heart has always belonged to him, so that ties things up pretty nicely, I’d say.”

“God, things really never change.” Merlin grins and reaches up to fiddle with the lapel of Arthur’s raincoat. “So this is really happening?”

“Yeah, it definitely is. What was it that crazy old dragon called us? Two sides of the same coin? Well, I’ll be heads if you’ll be tails.”

“And I can’t be heads because…?”

“Because being heads requires a modicum of intelligence and you lost in a fight with a branch earlier,” smirks Arthur.

“That’s hardly my fault,” says Merlin indignantly. “That was the catalyst for all of this happening. You can't say that I lost to a nudge from the universe.”

“Don’t be a sore loser, Merlin.” Arthur grins. “Let’s just agree that as the Once and Future King, I should get what I want.”

“I almost turned you into a toad earlier,” glares Merlin. “I could still make that happen.”

“You’re adorable,” says Arthur, placing a kiss on Merlin’s forehead and pulling him close again, “and I love you too. Sorry it’s taken me so long to work it out.”

“And you want to be heads because you think you’re smart,” Merlin mumbles into Arthur’s shoulder, though he feels an irrepressible joy burn inside him at the words. This is everything he’s ever wanted and it still feels like so much more than he ever imagined. He lifts his head to rest his chin on Arthur’s shoulder and his eye catches a small lizard on a nearby crystal. It’s a sign of how much he wants everyone to know how much he loves Arthur that he smiles excitedly at it. He needs to get out of here. “What do you say to heading back to camp now?”

“Nah, let’s stay dry a moment or two more,” says Arthur.

So they do, and as Merlin tries to enjoy this quiet moment, he’s sure he must be imagining the knowing glint in the familiar gold eyes of the lizard.

There is no way Kilgharrah could ever fit that much smugness into a body that small.

But it’s _Nos Galan Gaeaf_ and the fact that he’s even alive to see the lizard is proof that stranger things have happened.

 _‘Yes, Merlin, it’s me. I didn’t choose this, so don’t you dare laugh,’_ says Kilgharrah’s voice in his head.

 _‘Wouldn’t dream of it,”_ Merlin grins, feeling like laughing for so much more than just seeing the once great Dragon forced to adjust to life as a far tinier reptile.

Merlin knows that life won’t be easy. He knows that he’s here to protect Arthur which means that there will be threats and countless dangerous encounters. He knows that his destiny comes with immeasurable responsibility.

But his destiny also comes with Arthur and as much as he’ll protest it, he knows that there is nothing he would rather do than be the tails to his heads.


End file.
